Rebuilding Life
by Renowe
Summary: Begins an hour after Orannis' fall and goes on between Abhorsen and Creature in the Case. Mogget has a new names, Lirael gets to know her new family, and Sam tries to work with the Southerlings. Nick, meanwhile, is having bloody visions of Corvere...
1. One

**Lirael, After Orannis' Fall**

(I own nothing)

Renowe

The Dog watched, her ears alert, her tail twitching, as she sat on the border between life and death. The river's usually strong current merely lapped at her feet and stirred the hairs on her tail. Her nose could just barely sense the warmth of Life, but she knew she could not return. Not yet. Not until the time was right.

On the other side of the grayish mist that kept the Dog from her mistress, stood a group of eight people. Two were being supported by the other six and a small, fluffy white cat sat nearby, washing himself unconcernedly

"Nick, tell me again, what happened?" Prince Sameth of the Old Kingdom said. He was tired, and covered in sweat, grime and dust, as were they all. On top of this his best friend, who he had thought lost to the river of Death, had come back, with a charter mark on his forehead and a strange wet dog smell that lingered in the air, even an hour after they had returned.

Lirael was half asleep, supported by her sister Sabriel, and her niece, Ellimere. All three had raven black hair, though Ellimere's was somewhat more contained, pulled back in a precise knot at the back of her head. Nick, sitting on the ground across from them was pale, covered in blue-black bruises retreating from the healing marks that Sam had wearily placed on him, and felt he could only barely whisper what he had tried to say before, "I can't remember, Sam. There was cold. I felt frozen. I couldn't move... And someone said I had a... a Charter Mark? And then I was here. I saw you coming..." He half-smiled and fainted.

Sam looked at his mother and she shook her head wearily, "It's no use asking him now, Sam. He most likely won't remember until he's fully recovered," she said. "For now, let's get ourselves some food and rest. It wouldn't do for the Ancelstierran police to come upon us like this. Even with the evident destruction around here there's no way they'd believe us. So, shall we?"

She and Ellimere began to guide Lirael down the hill towards the stream, where the last of the Southerling Refugees were filing back to their former camp. Sam had gone down to them half an hour ago, to explain what had happened and to make sure they were safe. They had agreed to wait a month, until he and his parents could make arrangements for them to be moved to the other side of the wall, and to be taught about the ways of the Old Kingdom. What was left of the Perimeter garrison that had helped earlier waited there for them as well, and together they trudged up the hill towards the trucks.

A little over an hour later, the two Clayr, Sanar and Ryelle, were sitting in the back of an army truck with Lirael, healing her arm where her hand had been. The truck itself moved along at a jolting gait, the canvas flapping, and the various rusty, mechanical joints squeaking as they went over bump after bump. In the truck in front of them lay Nick, with Sam watching over him. He had just revived from his faint and was staring blankly at the yellow-gray ceiling. He blinked. The canvas overhead had just ripped on its own, creating an opening just big enough for a cat.

And again, he blinked. A cat had somehow managed to appear in the truck next to him. It looked him in the face, green eyes narrowed in amusement, and winked. A second later, Sam groaned. "Sorry, Yrae—Mogge—What should I call you? You're really Mogget anymore, but you aren't Yrael right now, either. Anyways, I haven't got any fish at the moment. Try Ellie, she'll be able to get some off of the Major."

The cat seemed to think about this for a moment before he replied, tail swishing, "You should call me Wong. And I didn't come for fish."

The name didn't seem to fit, but Sam ignored it and queried, "Then what do you want?"

"Alas, even the Prince has no manners," Wong mewed airily, "I came with a message, and small thanks I get for continuing to serve."

"Sorry...Wong. What's the message?"

"Nothing you need to know, obviously, since you can't ever stand a little politeness."

"Mogget."

"Don't call me that! Fine. The Abhorsen and the King wish to speak to you."

"Well, I have to stay here with Nick. Tell them to come here."

"I'm not sending another message. I'll stay here, you go."

Sam eyed the white cat uncertainly. Could he trust him? He decided there was only one way to find out. "Ok," he said, and clambered out of the truck.


	2. Two

Two   
Renowe 

(I own only the plot)

Lirael slept dreamlessly on the hard floor in the back of the rattling truck, lulled by the sounds of the canvas flapping as they jerked and rattled slowly down the road. Sanar and Ryelle sat on opposite sides of her, silently contemplating the mysteries of the world, their eyes misted with the Sight. As soon as they had finished tending to her arm, Lirael had immediately collapsed into sleep, something she hadn't had much of for months. Her body welcomed the rest and she didn't wake for a long time.

_Nick was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming, but he also somehow knew that what he saw was real._

_He stood in the street outside his uncle's town house. The yellowing curtains were drawn, even though it was daytime, and the lawn seemed strangely reddish-brown for that time of year. Everything was quiet. _

_Nervous, Nicholas Sayre took a step forwards, following the strange instinct he felt to move softly, lest he break the eerie silence that had draped itself about this usually raucous part of Corvere. One more step and he was on the lawn. As he looked closely at it he realized that the grass was still green, but it was covered in blood and various other bits that Nick didn't want to think about. He took a step backwards._

_Something or someone screamed and everything went blank for a moment._

He sat up too quickly and doubled over, automatically clutching his left side until the pain subsided to a pounding but bearable roar.

The white cat sitting in the corner of the truck watched Nick as if he was a tin of dog food—interesting, but not altogether agreeable. His green eyes were slits, glowing in the tapestry of dark that indicated night had fallen.

_Nick descended back into sleep, his mind leading him to a small, damp tent, wherein sat a smallish black and tan dog of friendly disposition. She had wings. And there was the owl..._

"Lirael," he muttered, his eyelids fluttering. His left hand twitched as if to touch his left side, but the movement subsided and the small cat's green eyes opened wide for a moment. A small, satisfied, rumbling purr fluffed itself pompously into the air, drowning out the buzz of the truck's engine as they rattled onward.

In the back of the third truck sat Sabriel and Touchstone, joined by their children, Sameth and Ellimere. All were tired, all were dirty, and all anyone wanted to do was wash and sleep, but there were more pressing matters.

Sam shifted uncomfortably as he listened to his parents discuss plans to open up the disused farmlands in the south of the Old Kingdom to the Southerling refugees.

He glanced at the tiny mark in his right (?) hand, which had been cut there not more than a day ago. It felt as though it had been years. The Southerlings had trusted him. They had asked for his promise, and he had given it. The faces of the Southerling refugees who he had spoken with not long after the fall of the Destroyer swam into view. They were intensely hopeful and grateful. He could not, would not fail them.

"Sam?"

His mother spoke, breaking the wave of thoughts he had lost himself in.

"What? Sorry," he said distractedly.

"I asked you if you knew what Lirael did back there?"

"When? When she was in Death?" he stared blankly at his mother for a moment, as if waiting for an answer. Finally Sabriel nodded. Ellimere looked surprised that he didn't know what they were talking about.

"I have no idea. She didn't tell me. Only that it was our only chance."

Sabriel and Touchstone exchanged glances.

"Sam..." Ellimere began, but Touchstone stopped her and asked, "Sam, how much of this conversation did you hear?"

"I don't know... we were talking about the Southerling refugees last I remember."

Again his parents exchanged a look.

"Sam, it's been over an hour since we were talking about them," Ellimere said. Sam started. A jolt of energy had just hit him, as though he had stuck a knife into an outlet, only not quite as painful. It was followed by a feeling of intense worry, which boiled up out of his stomach, and permeated his nerves like water through a net.

He jumped out of the back of the moving vehicle and ran along towards the rear of the caravan, leaving his family staring after him.

It took them all a few seconds to react. Ellimere, shocked, wondered what she had said. Sabriel went pale, and Touchstone turned red. Ellimere jumped out of the truck and looked around. Where had he gone? She caught a glimpse of him silhouetted in the darkness as he ran towards the rear end of the caravan. Where was he going?

Sabriel, face ashen, struggled out of the back of the truck with Touchstone close behind, his hand on one of his sword hilts. Ellimere indicated that he had gone to the back of the line of still moving trucks, and Sabriel instantly moved along the right side of the caravans, toward Lirael, as Ellimere went down the other side, towards Nick's truck. Touchstone followed his wife. As they neared the vehicle Lirael was sleeping in, Sabriel slowed. Touchstone caught her when she fainted.

Nick first ran to Nick's truck, where he found Nick sleeping peacefully under the watchful eye of Mogget, now called Wong.

"Wong," Sam whispered hurriedly, his face streaming with tears that he didn't even know he was crying, "Did something happen to Nick?"

The little white cat yawned and told Sam that there had been nothing out of the ordinary, and informed him that his name was _not_ Wong.

Exasperated, Sam, began to inquire as to whether or not the cat would make up his mind when he heard a howling bark half-eco through his head, coming, in a indistinct way, from Lirael's direction.

"What was that?" he said, and the white cat's fur stood on end: he had heard nothing.

Sam jumped out of the truck and reached Lirael just before his mother fainted. He didn't notice.

Ellimere reached Nick's truck in time to see Sam jump out and run to the back of the truck behind them. Lirael. Then, Ellimere, too, suddenly and inexplicably collapsed to the ground, just off to the side of the road.


	3. Three

Three

Renowe

(I own only "Mogget's" names and the plot)

Touchstone signaled to the truck drivers to stop, and the trucks halted, engines jabbering to a standstill. He moved Sabriel into Nick's truck, while Major Greene moved Ellimere as well. Both women had pulses and were breathing regularly, as if they were asleep, rather than knocked out.

They were near enough to the Wall now for Touchstone to reach the Charter easily, and he let himself slip into its eternal dance. He had intended to heal both women, but then realized that he didn't know how, because there didn't seem to be anything wrong with them.

Nick stirred and muttered indistinctly.

Frustrated and worried, Touchstone sat tailor style, his legs crossed to watch and to think.

The white cat, formerly called both Mogget and Wong, sat on his haunches, listening to something indistinct, his ears pricked forward, his eyes narrowed, and his tail twitching slightly.

_One moment, Lirael had been enveloped in black, dreamless, velvet sleep; the kind that comes only when one is finally resting after hard work. It is the deepest sleep, and the most refreshing. The next moment, she found herself drifting through a reddish haze that slowly turned to gray. The air was cold, and water rushed about her feet, trying to trip her and pull her under. The stub of her arm where her hand had been began to ache._

_She was too tired to deal with this. Why was she in Death? Why did she have to come across more complications after what had just happened? And why did she have to be here without her bells? The Destroyer was bound. As soon as they were able they would force the ancient evil back under layers of earth, stone, wood, and bone. So why did she suddenly have to have been thrown into Death, and not of her own volition? _

_The roar of the First Gate lessened for a moment, signaling that something had just come through. It started on its way toward her. From the sound of the splashing it was a small creature. But Lirael knew that size does not matter in Death. Carefully, very aware that she had no means of defense, she began to back towards the warmth of Life. _

_But she couldn't find it. Somehow it had disappeared or moved, or perhaps her sense of direction had been toyed with, but she was sure she should have been through already. _

_That was when the panic hit her. She was tired, unarmed, and extremely vulnerable. And right now she knew exactly how much she really wanted to live. Binding Orannis had shown her that. She didn't want to go until it was her time, and her choice._

_The creature was gaining on her, and she had nowhere to go. Somehow, Life had been blocked or moved, and she didn't know how or why. But that was where she knew she wanted to be. The panic lifted her out of her common sense, and she began to run. She didn't know where, she didn't know why. All that mattered was to find Life._

_The creature still gained on her, loosing its gait to a long-legged lollop that would soon eclipse Lirael's path. She ran on blindly, the river pulling at her ankles and batting at her knees. _

_The creature was almost upon her. It crouched, leaped into the air, shedding water like a slippery cloth. Lirael, glancing over her shoulder, saw it coming and almost lost her balance before the first bark echoed in her head. The creature was caught mid leap and crashed back into the water, the River enveloping it and pulling it back the way it had come._

_The second bark came a moment later, forcing her muscles to move. She fought against it at first, but realized that as she was walked, the river's pull lessened slightly, and the roar of the first gate grew dimmer._

_She let herself be carried towards Life like a rag doll held up by string and moved by some invisible hand._

_As soon as she felt the warmth of Life on her face she was stopped._

"_Dog?" she whispered. Then there was a cut-off yip, and a jolt of energy coursed through her._

Lirael opened her eyes as she fell back into her body, still aching from the strangeness of the passage. She felt the anxious worry as it boiled up out of her stomach and sank through her nerves until she shook, ice cracking and flaking to the floor. She rolled over and rummaged around near where she had been sleeping, taking no notice of Sanar and Ryelle as they stirred and turned to see what their patient was doing.

The small soapstone carving seemed to warm immediately at her touch, "Please be alright, Dog," Lirael whispered.

Before the ice had fully begun to melt, before the cramping and shaking that were the result of her venture in Death began to fade, Lirael began to cast the spell she remembered only vaguely from so long ago when she had only wanted a small charter sending. Now she wanted more.

The charter marks spilled from her hands and caught up the still melting ice from the river of Death. It steamed and twisted into the air like glitter in a snow-globe, catching the light that flowed about the back of the now halted trucks.

_The large, black and tan Dog stopped short as something reached out for her Mistress. Her eyes widened. The white light that had enveloped her had pulled her through back into Life, but it had not been gentle about it._

_She cocked her head to the right and stared briefly at the place where her mistress had gone through, then let out a low, tentative, "Woof." She sat down right there on her tail, and watched._

The light was a dim gold color, cast by miniscule, glowing charter marks that floated and twinkled in and out of existence. A white haze swirled around him as Sam pulled back the canvas flap on the slowly jolting truck. He clambered in carelessly, the thick white air parting around him and eddying like snow.

Lirael sat with her back to the entrance, her hair spilling down over her shoulders instead of pinned up in its usual fashion. The two Clayr were sitting on either side of her, their hands reaching for her shoulders, but it was as if they were frozen, and had never quite finished the gesture. Light spilled from something that Lirael was holding in her hands. Her entire body was shaking, and there was melting ice on the floor. It was evident that she had just been in Death.

"Lirael! Lirael!" Sam gasped. He looked over her shoulder. Cradled in her good hand was the small soapstone carving that she seemed to think had replaced the Disreputable Dog. A vivid white light emanated from her hand and wrist. It looked like Free Magic, yet held none of its corrosive, illness-inducing stench.

_Nick was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. He understood that he was dreaming. But he was very confused. He wasn't sure which was dreaming, his waking hours or his sleeping hours. He had briefly revisited that old tent where he'd seen the dog with wings and the owl. He understood now who they were, but he didn't understand why he understood. He was confused._

_His dreamscape resolved itself from purple-black to a gray river. A familiar river; one he had stood in not long ago. But this time he was very afraid. He didn't want to see this river again until he was very old. He wished Lirael were there; something told him she understood this place, Death. _

_The odd thing, he thought, was that last time he'd been here the river had wanted him, pulled at him, tugged at his spirit. But now he felt nothing. He was standing right there in the middle of the river, but there was no sensation of water on his feet, or for that matter anything t all but the view, and the sound of that waterfall off in the distance. From this information, his more reasonable mind came to the conclusion that he was not really there. _

_Suddenly he saw her. She was standing awkwardly in the mist, seeming completely disoriented. She looked twice as scared as he felt. _

_The roar of the waterfall faltered slightly and he began to shake. Something moved right by him, straight towards her. She began to run, but stopped briefly, seeming completely lost. Suddenly he heard a sharp yip, and whatever it has been that had been attacking Lirael fell through the current and didn't resurface. He heard another bark and she began to walk, halfheartedly, away from him._

Lirael,_ he tried to say. _No! _He tried to reach for her but couldn't. Something white and powerful welled up inside him and he experienced a brief feeling of pain, like an electrical shock, before everything went blank, and he slept again._

Sam sat down in front of his aunt and stared pointedly first at her, then at the tiny carving in her hand. Lirael stared back at him, but didn't seem to see farther than her nose. Tears were streaming down her face, yet her breath was slow and steady, as if she were merely sleeping. The water around her was cold, as Sam discovered by touching it.

He began to observe the light that was flowing around her. It had the looked almost exactly like Free Magic, but it was far too fluid, and light. It seemed almost like a strange mix of Charter Magic and Free Magic.

"Lirael," he whispered, "Where are you getting this power?"

She did not stir. Her attention seemed to be wholly focused on the figurine in front of her, yet her energy was going fast as well. Her already pale skin was bleaching white like snow.

Curious, Sam reached out to touch the thick white light that was pouring off her.

At first it merely settled into his hands like milky water, but then an image began to form in it.

_Nick sat in a grey field, eyes closed, head lolling to one side. Whiteness poured from his hands and head. Sam could see it now, connecting Nick to Lirael through a web of a magic he had never seen nor heard of before. He had to break the tie. All that magic was flowing from Nick, to Lirael, and pouring into the soapstone dog. What would happen when the dog overflowed? _

Frightened, Sam threw the strangely tangible power to the floor of the truck, clambered back out and ran along the strangely quiescent truck. He practically fell into the truck where Touchstone and the White Cat were anxiously keeping watch over Nick, and Sam's Mother and Sister.

"Dad," Sam said.

"What is it?" The way his son had spoken, Touchstone knew that Sam was rushing, and he had found something out.

"Dad, there's some sort of strange connection between Nick and Lirael—" He stopped short, finally noticing the other two sleeping figures, "What happened to mum? And Ellimere?"

Touchstone glanced at them briefly, his eyes troubled. "I don't know. They collapsed about the same time you got into the other truck. What's happening? There's a connection…?"

Sam got back to the point, almost panicking, but not quite, "There's magic coming from Nick and going to Lirael. We have to break the connection somehow. And I've never seen this kind of thing before. I could pick up the light that was coming off of her. It's not Free Magic, because it doesn't make me sick, and there's so much we could smell it from here if it was. But it's not Charter, either, since it's white and consists of some sort of strange liquid, rather than marks. It reflects the Charter marks, though, and changes them.

"I don't know how to break the connection, but I know we have to."

Sam then turned to the cat, "What do you know? Can you help? And what is your name this time?"

"Ellsei is my name, if you must know, and I feel rather disinclined to help you at all. But the Abhorsens never did learn manners, so I will acquiesce— if you promise you'll find me some more of those lovely fish."

"Sardines?"

"Yes, them."

"I'll give you a whole case, uh, Ellsei, just tell me what I need to do."

Touchstone watched the exchange with some amusement, despite the gravity of the situation. He realized there was much that had been left out of the story he'd heard from Sam. Perhaps there was some humor to be found after all. Sardines.

Nick woke with a start. That strange cat was licking his ear. Sam was sitting near him, face haunted and frightened.

"Nick," he said quietly, "What are you doing?"

"I _was_ sleeping… if that's what you mean?" He felt better, somehow more himself, and far less confused. It was as if he had shed a blanket of fog. Yet something felt wrong. Certainly he had gained clarity, but there seemed to be something missing, something he couldn't quite place.

"Nick, what is this power you're passing to Lirael?"

Nick's eyes were curious, but disbelieving for a moment in the light of Touchstone's Charter light.

"Power?" he coughed nervously, "I don't have any pow—" he paused for a moment as if a thought had struck him. He was remembering. He was passing something to Lirael? Why? Was there something wrong with that?

"I don't know," he continued, suddenly terrified, "What is it doing?"

"We haven't any idea, only that whatever this stuff is, it's coming from you, and flowing through Lirael. You have to break the connection, Nick. I don't know what will happen if you don't, but I don't _want_ to know."

_I have to break the connection. _It sounded a lot like what he'd thought he should do back at the lightning farm.

_I have to break the connection._

"How?" Nicholas Sayre asked wearily.

A small sarcastic voice mewed, "How? How? Well I suppose we would know? Lucky for you, _I_ do," Ellsei paused smugly, and Sam poked him lightly in the ear.

"Tell us!"

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there. Visualize this 'power' as a rope or thread between you and Lirael."

Nick closed his eyes and tried. He saw it suddenly; that great expansive tangle of cream-white liquid threads stretching and flowing out of some deep well in his body. He spread his hands, making gathering movements. Without being told he had formed the Charter marks for weaving and gathering. Tiny golden sparks winked about among the mass of liquid power. Soon he held before him not a great tangle of yarns, but a shimmering cloth of power, laced with golden charter marks and emanating silver-white light.

"Cut it," Ellsei murmured.

_Cut it. _Nick heard. He heard, but the cloth before him was so beautiful. He wanted to learn more about it. He began to pull it toward him, but, to his dismay, it simply melted into his midriff.

"_Cut it!" _Ellsei fairly screeched out the words. Sam and Touchstone stared in surprise at Nick. He had started to glow white. But it was not the same as the way Lirael had been glowing. Where the whiteness had flown in rivers and risen in mist around the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, the same light merely radiated like real light from Nick's body. It seemed he was absorbing it.

_Cut it!_

_I have to break the connection._

Nick took a deep breath and cut. He wasn't sure how he did it. One moment he was gathering the cloth, the next he held six sharp marks in his hand. He had never used the Charter before, but they came to him somehow. He cut the cloth and it dissolved, and unraveled, leaving only a few small puddles and a faint tang of wet dog.

Nick opened his eyes.

"I did it!"


	4. Four

Four

Renowe

I own "Mogget's" new names and the plot. Cheers to Garth Nix for everything else.

Lirael opened her eyes, dismayed and disoriented, to a fading white cloud and puddles of water. The soapstone dog in her hand was luminescent, shedding white light like fur. She held it up in front of her, and the entire truck was lit; all shadows were chased away.

Sanar and Ryelle stirred behind her, where they had been unable to move at all for quite some time. Lirael turned, the little dog in her hand shedding light like fur.

The Clayr opened their eyes, squinting against the glare. Lirael lowered the dog into her lap where its brilliance faded to a pale glow. As one, Sanar and Ryelle asked, "What happened?"

Lirael faltered, "I don't know. I saw—light. White light and golden sparks. And I thought I was casting a spell to make a Charter Sending, but it just turned into a lamp…" she felt somehow as if she ought to be ashamed. As if she ought to hide behind her hair as she once had. Then she realized she _was_ hiding behind her hair.

The two Clayr looked at her quizzically.

She just wanted to sleep again. To go back to that velvet darkness, and forget for a while all that she had seen. To be free from behind these cold, hard walls she had built up to protect herself against all that she had yet to see.

Sanar and Ryelle saw her weariness.

"Go back to sleep," Sanar said.

"We'll talk about it when you wake up," Ryelle continued.

Lirael slept, the stone dog caught up in the crook of her right arm.

As Nick had opened his eyes, both Ellimere and Sabriel stirred and sat up. Sam immediately went to his sister while Touchstone went to Sabriel. Both were confused and disoriented, lost in the shadows of the half-light of the now fading charter marks on the canvas ceiling.

"What happened?" Sabriel asked.

"You fainted. Or, at least, you collapsed." Sam answered his mother from the other side of the truck.

"Both of us?" Ellimere queried, "At the same time?"

Sam glanced at his father, who nodded. Ellimere put her fingers to her mouth and subsided into thought.

As if in a trance, Sabriel spoke, "I dreamt I stood at a window. I was wearing white silk, and I was staring and staring out through the glass. On the other side of the window I could see the river of Death. I could hear the first gate, and I could tell that there were living spirits traversing the waters; people who needed help. But I could do nothing. I was trapped behind the glass, and all I could do was watch as Lirael was pursued toward Life by some strange creature.

"I saw a dog. I saw it come from the side and intercept the creature. And then Lirael disappeared in a cloud of white. Everything went still, and I fell into a dreamless state. I do not remember anything more after that."

Sam pondered his mother's description, and then turned to his sister. "What did you see? The same thing?"

Ellimere nodded, "Except," she continued, her fingers absently pinching the edge of her shirt, "There was a man in the water, too. He looked almost like Nick, but the mist obscured his features. Have you spoken to Lirael?"

Touchstone shook his head wearily, but Sam started and jumped out of the quiescent truck again, realizing, with a start, that the moon had now risen and was full, its light permeating the thick tangle of brush that grew on either side of the road.

Back in the truck Sabriel looked after him in surprise, but Ellimere only rolled her eyes, and Nick whispered, "Third time he's done that."

The green eyes belonging to Ellsei blinked and narrowed for a moment, than closed in a purr. Touchstone glanced at the being, surprised.

Halfway between the two trucks, Sam saw the two Clayr emerge from the back of the truck and make their way towards him. He rushed forward, almost falling over his own feet in his urgency.

"Is she alright?" Sam asked

"She's fine, she sleeps," Sanar said, her eyes wide and calm.

"How is Sabriel?" Ryelle asked.

Sam gestured behind him and they went into the other truck. Then he clambered into the space where Lirael slept, quietly inspecting it, surprised by the light that left no shadowed corners beneath the canvas. Seeing that she slept still, he went back to Nick's truck, where a meeting of everyone was now taking place.

Ellimere, having listened carefully to everything that had occurred in the past few hours from each person's perspective, looked up at the circle of faces.

"Do you think that this could have something to do with, well, with our blood connection? I mean the one between Lirael and mum and Sam and I," she said nervously, "Maybe, then, there is a connection between the sword we used to bind the Destroyer, and how everyone here was affected by this event?"

"But if that was the case, why wasn't I affected?" Touchstone asked.

"I don't know," Ellimere said, her face half lit by the dim charter mark cast on the ceiling, "I don't know."

"Well, while you all ponder that," a small sarcastic voice pitched up, "Why don't you, sir prince, try and find out what Nicholas' power is about?"

Nick jumped when Ellsei said his name, and Sam shook his head wearily, "I can't believe we forgot about that. Thank you... er… Ellsei."

"My name is not Ellsei," the white cat replied airily and continued, "You don't suppose there might be some fish about? No? Then perhaps I will just go to sleep. Carry on." And the collarless being curled up with a mischievous grin on his face.

Sabriel rolled her eyes at this, while, almost simultaneously, Sam shrugged. Nick, from his half-horizontal position on the floor of the still quiet truck began to tap his fingers impatiently.

Touchstone shifted uncomfortably as a sort of awed silence sat down with the group.

A loud tapping sound came from the canvas flap, a second later it opened to reveal Major Greene.

"I was just wondering if you plan on sitting here all day, or if we should get moving? The men are becoming restless…" he said, the edges of his coat flapping slightly in the breeze that was gathering.

Touchstone shuffled over to the flap, looking mildly ridiculous, "Certainly all seems to be in relative order now, and we can easily continue our discussions while moving. Thank you, Major, for your time, it is a good thing you had space, since our Paperwings were destroyed."

The major nodded and went back along the lines, shouting. Soon after, the sputtering sound of the truck engines cut the still air, canvas jerked, truck frames rattled, and they began to move.

Lirael awoke again. Grayish light was showing under the edges of the canvas, so it must be daylight. She uncurled from her sleeping position and sat up slightly. The trucks were moving again, the hard rattling as they bumped over rut and stone must have been what woke her up.

Pulling herself into a kneeling position she stared at the blank wooden barrier in front of her. She had a vague memory of light coming from the soapstone dog, but couldn't quite make out anything else.

She turned around then, towards the back of the truck, where the opening in the canvas was bumping congenially against the truck frame. It was a sort of dusty natural light that leaked in the opening, making more shadows than creating visibility.

Lirael hunted around with her hand for a few moments until she felt the smooth roundness of the dog under her palm. The brilliance it had had last time she saw it was no longer there, but the stone instantly warmed at her touch. Leaning up against her pack she ran her thumb along the top of its head. It began to emit a faint aura of white light, which grew as she stroked it. It did not get very bright, just enough that she could see around her.

Where were Sanar and Ryelle?

Everything that had happened flooded back into her head and she nearly dropped the figurine. Dog…

She shook her head as if to clear it. What about everyone else?

Over the oily roar of the engine Lirael heard voices, and then the truck slowed to a crawl, the canvas flap opened, and Sanar and Ryelle calmly and gracefully climbed in to the vehicle, closely followed by Sam, who managed to lurch onto the floor just as they picked up speed again.

The two Clayr came to sit on either side of Lirael, Sanar on the left Ryelle on the right, their gentle, calm presence warming the dark haired girl who sat between them.

Sam came and sat in front of her, his head full of ideas and new information. Lirael raised her head, brown eyes meeting her nephew's for a moment, a tired but renewed look on her face.

"What happened?" she asked.

"That's what we came to find out," Sameth replied, head tilted slightly.

"Are you ready?" Sanar asked, eyes gentle.

"What about the others? Sabriel, Ellimere…?"

"They're arguing over Nick, and Dad's asleep," Sam replied, eyes laughing slightly.

Lirael tilted her head to the right, her tangled hair half covering her face, her eyes questioning.

"One thing at a time," Ryelle said.

"Let us hear your story and we will tell you ours," Sanar continued.

Clutching the figurine, which was still emitting a faint glow, Lirael went over what she could remember, from the moment she woke in the truck the first time till the present time.

She was still exhausted, still immensely confused, but the telling seemed to drain some of the ache from her limbs, she felt the walls inside her diminish slightly, and the stone in her hand was comforting, almost as if the Dog were lying by her side, tail wagging slightly, ears incorrigibly quirked, eyes wise and loving.

**Hello, All,**

**Sorry, it took me almost three months to get this finished. I'm well on my way through the fifth chapter now, and will post that as well as soon as I can. This Fic is turning out to be rather longer than I expected. **

**Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and helpful critiques.**

**For those of you who keep wondering about "Wong" an explanation will appear as soon as I can figure out where to put it in. So far there's just been too much action for it to fit.**

_**Keep On Writing, people!**_

_**Renowe**_


	5. Five

Five

Renowe

I own "Mogget's" new names and the plot continuations. Cheers to Garth Nix for everything else.

Nick was now propped up in a sitting position against a backpack in the jolting lorry, eyes half lidded, hands resting lethargically at his sides. His hair was flopped about messily in a way that many females might find intriguing.

But he was worried. He couldn't forget the vision he'd had. The blood on the lawn of his uncle's house, the empty silence of the Corvere air, and that scream…

What was happening back at home? Now that the Destroyer was no longer a looming threat, his mind returned to his family. He'd heard Sabriel talk of Corolini's supporters as if they were an army. He desperately hoped this wasn't so. He'd seen those who should be dead rise and walk, and those who should be alive, fall. He didn't dare think what might have happened if they had somehow made it to the capitol and its crowds of skeptics…or if those crowds of skeptics had somehow made an allegiance with the Dead.

Nearby, Ellimere and Sabriel were having a heated discussion of Charter and Free Magic. Mother and daughter both seemed to hold strong beliefs about what might happen if they were to be combined, or if it was even possible.

Nicholas Sayre returned his attention to their discussion.

"…but wouldn't they clash and destroy the person they inhabited?" Ellimere was saying.

"Ellie, you know very well that my bells are made of free magic contained in charter marks. When I walk in Death, I must use free magic to cross the precincts. If, indeed, Nicholas has been bestowed with a late baptism from who-knows-where, it is probably keeping the free magic that the Destroyer imbued in him at bay. He may have a kind of magic that can be channeled using both marks and various words without corrosive smell, or complicated weaving.

"There may even be a grain of truth to those old stories they tell in Ancelstierre, of 'wizards' who draw their power from within and use wands and fingertips to concentrate it," Sabriel concluded.

Ellimere looked at her hands for a moment, "But, mother, we already know there's a grain of truth to those stories: the Clayr have wands, we use our fingertips to sketch Charter Marks…"

"Yes, but Nicholas' power is more liquid than Charter magic, and far less hot than free magic. It seems the sort of thing that will spread unless controlled. If he isn't trained he might leave a trail of odd happenings in his wake. Just look what happened to the connection between him and Lirael.

"His power seems to be like a malleable thread. Liquid unless held onto, strong if spun, and able to be drawn back into oneself."

Ellimere backed down. She didn't like losing a debate, but she knew when it was time to give up so she wouldn't look a fool.

Sabriel continued, "Will you be willing to help me figure this out? Or else find someone who can figure it out for us?"

As Ellimere nodded an all too familiar sensation of cold washed over her mother, while, in the back of the following truck, Lirael sat upright in alarm and the hairs on the back of Sam's neck began to rise. Nick felt a sudden bolt of freezing energy race through his left side and he doubled over in pain again, clutching at his chest.

"The Dead," Sabriel spoke grimly, "Fourteen approaching to the North, all Hands as far as I can tell. And in daylight… They must be desperate."

Ellimere reached for her sword, and mother and daughter quickly geared up for battle.

The white cat in the corner opened one green eye and then closed it again. A few seconds later he opened both eyes and said to Nick, "You can call me Erete. I will be back." Arching his spine, the feline fluffed up into a standing position.

"Where are you going?" Nick asked Erete, momentarily distracting Sabriel from her quick check of her bells.

"Fishing…" was the reply, as he slid out of the back of the truck.

Ellimere's eyes narrowed as she watched him go, then she followed her mother, who had already jumped out the back of the truck and was shouting to the drivers to be ready.

The trucks suddenly sputtered to a halt, though whether it was because they chose, or because the wind had shifted to the north, no one was really sure.

Nick found himself rolled off of the backpack and onto the still floor as sounds could suddenly be heard, now that the engines had ceased their grumbling. Belly crawling to the canvas flap, he looked out and saw Sameth come barreling out of Lirael's truck, his surcoat bright red, boots muddy and ragged.

And, not far behind, came Lirael at a much slower pace, looking much better than she had even when he'd first vaguely seen her in a reed boat on a lake. She seemed, for one thing, much more awake, and almost, somehow, less burdened.

She was in the process of strapping on her bell bandolier one handed. She didn't have a sword, and somehow Nick found this odd, as the first thing she'd really done besides talk to him was threaten him with one.

Following her came the two Clayr, looking imposing and regal, waves of blond hair shining in the faint light of the sun. One of them, Nick was never sure which was which, caught up with Lirael and grabbed her shoulder, gesturing to the stump of her right arm. The second came and took her elbow. They clearly wanted her to go back to the truck and stay there.

Nick understood the look on her face. He didn't like being left behind either, but it was out of the question that he so much as sit up without support. Healing marks had been placed on his wounds, and they diminished the pain somewhat, but he was still not at all capable of much movement. And they wanted her to stay back for lack of a hand.

Lirael broke free from her cousins and continued walking purposefully towards Nick's truck, which, he realized had been her aim all along. Quickly he withdrew and lay back down on the wads of cloaks and backpacks nearby, staring up at the ceiling. Why did she make him so nervous?

Lirael approached the still truck with a small amount of discomfort that she couldn't quite understand. What was wrong with her? She knew she had to stay with Nick so she could guard him against the Dead. Sanar and Ryelle could take care of themselves. It was the injured she was worried about, and currently that amounted to her and Nick.

Cold waves were rippling down her spine, the effects of the Dead nearby. She clambered, with relief, into the truck just as she heard the first tolls of Saraneth ringing across the eerie, momentary silence that had descended upon them. She felt the first dead hand slip away before her eyes adjusted to the dark of the truck.

"Lirael?" a voice queried on her left.

The hands approached in broad daylight, their joints clicking like seizures, skin rotting in strips and falling from their skeletons as they attacked the party. Had they known Saraneth and Kibeth were waiting for them, they would have not come near. Instead, now they could not resist the command of the bells. Saraneth rang out from Sabriel, binding two at once. Sam used several charter marks to cut off another's legs so it was momentarily unable to move. They were still out of sword reach, so he continued throwing marks here and there in combination with his sister, who's clear voice and swift, precise movements were staggering the remaining ten Hands. Touchstone was the first to engage his blade, easily cutting through the groping fingers of the one closest. Sabriel continued to ring both bells. It was not long before all fourteen were only heaps of bleached bones, surrounded by a stench of decay that caused all present to cover their noses and mouths.

Sam and Ellimere expended some energy casting charter marks over the corpses, until all were nothing but small heaps of ash. Touchstone and Sabriel went with Major Greene to see if the trucks couldn't be restarted.

"It's not right, the Dead appearing in daylight in large, organized numbers," Ellimere said to Sam as they walked back toward the trucks, which were still immobile.

"I know, Ellie, but where's our explanation for it?" Sam replied, a little exasperated.

"When we flew over the Wall yesterday," Ellimere mused, "Mum noted that her wind flutes were broken."

"So you're saying that the Dead are organized because in Life they were in the army, and they have been allowed to rise again?" Sam asked, "I had never thought of that before, but the bodies were so rotten, there was no way of knowing what they used to be. They were certainly old enough…" He scratched his head as he reached up to grab the edge of the canvas flap and pulled it open to clamber in, Ellimere close behind.

A faint white light greeted them as they entered; its source was the soapstone dog, which Lirael held in her remaining hand. Nick was propped up against his pack, still, but he seemed less pale, and more alive than before. He turned his head slowly as the siblings jumbled in. "You're back already?" he said, "Are they gotten rid of?" He still wasn't sure how one was supposed to vanquish these creatures that he had so recently believed to be villagers with a plague.

Sam looked at his friend as he sat down, laying his sword beside him. "There were only fourteen, and they weren't very strong, the sun is too high," He shrugged, "With four of us there, it didn't take much to send them beyond the Ninth Gate."

Ellimere noted the look of complete incomprehension on Nick's face and asked, "How much do you know of the Charter?"

"Not much," Nick replied, "Before all of this I wouldn't have believed any of it. And no one has told much of it to me since yesterday," he tilted his head a little so his hair fell out of his eyes and his new Charter Mark shone through, "Will you explain it?"

"Oh, of course," Sam said, " I keep assuming you know because, well, it's stupid of me really, but I don't know why." A look of pure bewilderment crossed his face. "Anyhow, Death is a river and… Ellimere, you're better at explaining, you explain."

"Oh, fine," she said, and began to teach Nick about the Charter and Death while Sam interjected important information.

Lirael, sitting in the corner, watching the rapport between her niece, nephew, and Nick, smiled and returned her gaze to the soapstone dog in her hand.

"You always lit up my life, Dog," she whispered, "Now you're gone, but you are still lighting my path." A single tear slid down her cheek, she wiped it on the sleeve of her right arm, and the bandage on her wrist shifted, reminding her of the reason she was still alive. She drifted back into dreamless sleep.

The trucks jumped back into life rather suddenly, and they began lurching back down the road toward the perimeter. Touchstone and Sabriel had joined them by now, all laughingly arguing philosophy while Nick soaked in the information. Lirael had woken again when the adults got into the truck, and was half listening to the conversation, still half asleep, but she sat up very quickly as she felt the coldness again, subtly.

Sabriel twitched slightly and turned around at that instant. Their eyes met, and an understanding passed between them. She interrupted Sam, who was in the middle of a heated discussion of whether Audriel or Amnael had been the tenth queen in Belisaere. "Sam, did you feel that?"

He jumped, "Feel what?" the atmosphere in the truck immediately

Sabriel shook her head, "I can't explain it. There's something Dead near, but it's so slight…so small…"

At that instant, Erete jumped into the back of the moving truck. In his mouth was a tiny mouse. He carried it to Sabriel and dropped it at her feet. He then sat down and watched it twitch feebly and try to move.

Sam looked at the cat, interested, "Ellsei— Erete… Why are you bringing this to us? Mum… what is it?"

Sabriel looked as though she had just discovered something. Lifting the animal up by its tail she held it in front of her and examined it carefully. It trembled and squirmed under her gaze, large chunks of fur falling out of it and drifting to the floor, until she took out Ranna and rang it very gently. The animal instantly became quiescent. Erete yawned, being the closest to the bell aside from Sabriel and the mouse, and everyone else looked slightly dazed. Quieting the bell, Sabriel tucked it back into her bandolier and put the rodent on the floor. Erete sniffed it halfheartedly, and then said, "You know what this is, don't you?"

The statement was clearly addressed to Touchstone, rather than Sabriel, which caught him off-guard.

"What?"

Erete flicked his ears back, swished his tail and glanced away as though thoroughly disgusted.

Sabriel commented, "There have been too many 'Whats' tonight. I think I know what this is. It's a gorecrow, except in the form of a mouse. Odd to go to all that trouble for several of these: they don't seem very practical—"

"On the contrary," Touchstone choked out, "They are very useful if you want to follow someone on long journeys, or spying in palaces: a gore crow would hardly be left in Life if it were found the in palace, but a mouse…When my mother was Queen," he said, looking down, "The Abhorsen came to the palace on his way to do some work north of Belisaere. It was a leisurely visit, and not at all of a grim nature. He was walking by the kitchen when he sensed them, and he purged the castle of the spies. They were Rogir's. It wasn't long after the Abhorsen left that Rogir returned…

"The creatures are exactly like gorecrows, called goremice, except the Necromancer keeps one with him or her, since they cannot fly back to pass on their information. They are not really useful in the palace anymore, since there are spells against them… I put them there when we redid the castle, but I forgot to tell you. I guess I assumed it was common knowledge back then."

Sabriel looked at him with a slight tilt of the head, as though assessing something. Then she asked, "Then should we kill it?"

"If we kill it, we will never know where it came from," Erete said from his position at the end of the lurching truck.

Lirael, had, by now, scooted over to sit closer to the rest of the group and watch what was going on. "But if we kill it, the necromancer who has the other one will stop receiving information from it. Not only that, but the rest of them will be forced to go through the gates," she said. This sparked another short debate between Erete, Abhorsen and Abhorsen-in-waiting, and Nick, who was all for experimenting on the creature to see if they could use it to their own advantage. The rest of the group just sat and watched the discussion like, Sam noted, people watching cricket. They would look between people, but different people at different times. At various points all the attention would be on one of them. He got so caught up in the analogy that he didn't notice until too late that Nick had reached out to grab the mouse's rotting tail. The rodent had woken up.

"Shouldn't this little bugger still be asleep?" Nick asked as Erete sniffed disdainfully at Sabriel. Lirael's eyes fell instantly upon the animal. She glanced at Sabriel for a brief moment, questioning, then reached out to take the again squealing rodent by the tail. In the instant when both Nick and Lirael's hands were touching the scaly, unpleasant flesh a bolt of white energy shot through the animal, and Lirael jumped. The mouse fell, squeaking, to the floor, its fur now glossy white, and the feeling of the Dead gone from the truck. Erete pounced on the creature instantly and watched, amused, as it tried to get away.

"Well," said Nick, looking a bit shaken into the surprised silence, "I guess that settles _that_ argument."

Erete looked up, briefly and said merely, "Lunchtime. Does anyone have any fish, or shall I have to eat this morsel?" he indicated the white mouse squirming under his paw, "It seems like a perfectly normal, juicy mouse, now." Still pinning the animal down, he began to indifferently lick his other forepaw.

Ellimere grinned a little, which started Sam into laughing. Nick glanced around, quite confused and then caught the laughter, too. Lirael tried for a moment to suppress the unexplainable smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth, but then gave up and just let herself be. Touchstone and Sabriel, finding themselves suddenly surrounded by laughing friends, just looked at each other, bewildered at what was so funny. Then, seeing the looks on each other's faces began to laugh too.

Lirael, smiling broadly, suddenly realized that the last time she had felt this comfortable, this happy had been before she'd turned ten and heard of her mother's death. She felt in her pocket for the soapstone dog and squeezed it, tight.

_Well, here it is. The next installment may take quite a while, as I am about to immerse myself once more in school. Six is however, in the making… As soon as I can, I will post it._

_Renowe_


	6. Six

Six

Renowe

I own "Mogget's" new names and the plot continuations. Cheers to Garth Nix for everything else.

The company slept well that night, at least as well as possible in the back of a moving truck. They drew near the perimeter at dawn, and both Sabriel and Lirael woke suddenly in their separate trucks. A tangible cold had wrapped itself around the caravan, which had taken an extra detour around a road which had been all but destroyed. At their slower, more relaxed pace and with the detours, the time to get from the perimeter garrison to the mill had tripled.

Sabriel inched to the back of the truck and looked out. A cloak of mist was draping itself around them, obscuring the road from view and slowing the trucks to a crawl. Touchstone stirred, mumbling. Sabriel tugged the army standard blanket back over his toes and jumped out, walking quickly and quietly toward Lirael's truck. The lorries inched along, and one of the soldiers in the cabin squinted through his window at her as she passed.

A dark shape loomed ahead, and Sabriel froze. As whatever it was came closer, it began to take the distinguishable shape of a human. A human wearing a surcoat and bells, cradling the stump of a missing hand against her belt.

"Lirael?" her half sister hissed.

"Sabriel?" came the reply.

They managed to jump back into Lirael's vehicle as it trundled, rattling, past.

Inside, the Clayr were asleep still.

"Do you feel it? This cold…" Lirael asked nervously.

"Yes, that's why I came to find you. Sam wasn't awake. I wonder if he can sense it as strongly when he sleeps. Perhaps he is ignoring—"

Sam, as if on cue, came barreling into the truck. Sanar and Ryelle stirred.

"—it," Sabriel finished.

"I take it you felt it too, then?" Lirael said quietly, indicating that he should be quiet too.

Sam grinned sheepishly, "Well, not at first, but I saw mum leave, and once I got outside it hit me. It's not the same as the Dead, though, is it?"

The three of them sat there in silence for a moment, contemplating the odd sensation. It was sharper than the Dead, but much thinner, like the kind of ice that shatters when you tap it with a forefinger.

As the caravan drew closer to the warning signs, Sabriel found herself searching for the absence of sound she associated with her father and the tall, thin, reed-like sticks she had placed about the wall twenty years before.

"The wind flutes!" she cried, comprehension dawning on her face. "That's why we encountered the dead in organized numbers. They must have been soldiers."

"So, then, is that what this feeling is? The broken wind flutes? What are they doing?" Sam hesitated before continuing, "Nick has a piece of wood he won't let go of… He can't remember where he got it, but he refuses to part with it. It looks a lot like a wind flute, now that I think about it. A broken wind flute."

"He showed it to me," Lirael said suddenly, "When we were waiting around for you to finish off the Dead. He asked if I knew what it was. I couldn't…"

Sabriel looked thoughtful, "Well, I suppose we'll have to think on that later. For now, this problem shouldn't be that hard to fix. We can mend the wind flutes before we cross the wall. Let's see what needs to be done."

As the three of them, Abhorsen, Abhorsen-in-Waiting and Abhorsen's son, stepped out into the dull, chilly air, the putrid smell of rotting bodies reached their noses. Lirael and Sabriel felt around the sensation of death that was arising through the mist, and found it so thick that it could barely be distinguished as more than a huge lump of death, splayed out on the ground. They entered the family lorry, where Touchstone and Ellimere were still asleep.

As they clambered in the slowly jolting vehicle, they heard a sickening crunch and winced. From the driver's compartment they heard a yell of horror, which woke the two remaining sleepers.

"Whaz goinon?" Touchstone muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Sabriel inched her way over to her sleeping roll, next to his.

"We've reached the perimeter. And we think," she winced again as the brakes screeched on the lumbering caravan a moment too late. The engines of the trucks died as soldiers clambered out to see what was going on. Sabriel continued in a hurried tone, "we think that was probably the second body they've bumped into. The fog is thicker than the stuff in Corvere, and it's impossible to tell where you're going. The wind flutes are broken. We're going to have to keep the Dead at bay while I put them back up."

Touchstone yawned, and nodded, though he didn't seem to have comprehended much of what she'd said. Ellimere was already pulling on her clothes under cover of her bedroll.

"How many are there, mother?" she asked, her voice muffled in cloth.

"It's hard to tell. There are hundreds of bodies, to begin with, but I'd guess there's at least a hundred Hands blundering around."

Touchstone, seeming to at last have woken up, scrambled into boots and jumped out of the truck saying, "I'm going to talk to Major Greene."

_Nick was floating above blood stained grass. Echoes of screams dissipated against the brick wall on his left. On his right, a building, streaked with spilled white paint, rose upwards. He didn't know where he was, but he thought the screams might be coming from the top floor. _

_Lazily he wafted himself upwards on a piece of shimmering, white cloth that seemed to him like a magic carpet. As he rose, the screams grew more desperate, and he saw a face appear at a window. The face of a young woman, with blonde hair that had fallen from its place. Her face was pale and drawn with distress. She leaned out the window, reaching toward him._

_He wafted nearer, thinking of rescuing her._

"_Is there anyone else in there with you?" he called out. _

"_Not anymore! It's just me, now. First Alic, then Ellen went, and then…" she choked on her words, her eyes empty of tears. She seemed to have run out of them. He finally bumped against the window ledge. She stared at him, wide eyed. _

"_Come on! Get out of there!"_

"_How?"_

"_Just get onto the carpet!"_

"_What carpet?" _

_She seemed to think he was mad. It occurred to him that maybe she couldn't see it._

"_Can you trust me?"_

"_Do I have any choice?"_

"_Climb out the window. I promise you'll be safe. Word of Sayre."_

"_Sayre? Sayre? Who are you?"_

"_Just get out the window!"_

_Carefully, she edged her tiny frame over the ledge and dangled her feet an inch above the shimmering cloth. He put her feet onto it, and she felt it under them. She was barefoot. Her eyes widened, but she plopped the rest of herself down on it with relief on her face. Nick sighed too, and urged the carpet to waft back to the ground. It would do no such thing. Up? Up they went, and she grabbed his arm in fright. His enjoyment of the ride turned to horror as he saw what lay below him. Corvere was in smoking ruins. The capitol building, just visible through the smoke, had clearly been bombed, smashed in like a badly made sponge cake. _

"_Sayre! Help!"_

_He turned to look at the girl. She was sinking through the carpet, all her weight, though there wasn't much of it, was supported by his arm. He was surprised he hadn't felt it. _

"_You promised I would be safe!" Her eyes were wide and haunted. Desperately, he tried to pull her back through, but she sank still. They were three hundred feet in the air. If she fell, she would be quite dead. Her hands were slipping. _

_He grabbed a hold of her collar, finally, with his other hand. It changed color, and she shrieked. Her entire dress was now the same shimmering white substance of the carpet. He let go. And she stayed, floating 300 feet above the blackened city of Corvere. _

"_You can let go of me no and get back on the carpet," he said, "I think it will hold you."_

"_Not without my clothes!"_

"_What? You are wearing clothes!" _

"_You mean you can't see through this weirdness that's wrapped—"_

"_No, I can't"_

"_Promise?" _

"_Word of a Sayre, now get back up here."_

_Eyeing him carefully, she pulled herself partway through, but couldn't go any further. He seized her under the arms and hoisted her onto a different part of the carpet. _

_He ignored her, then, and focused on getting the carpet back towards the ground. As they began to sink gently, he looked up. She was gone. _

"_No! No! Word of a Sayre! I promised!"_

"Word of a Sayre," he mumbled. He sat up quickly, woken from the nightmare by the halting of his lorry. Gasping pain rushed down his side, and he lay back down again, frustrated. What was going on? Was Corvere really under siege? Both his dreams had been so real…

A cat blinked at him.

"Erete? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be? A sphinx?"

"I only just woke up—"

"And my name is not Erete."

"If you're not careful, we may just end up calling you Mogget again," said Sam, climbing into the truck.

"But I am not in your service anymore, _Prince_, and so I can do whatever I want… to you." The cat purred disdainfully.

"Are you _ever_ going to stop changing your name? What's gotten into you?" Sam inquired.

The cat blinked, stretched and yawned, "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but I got so used to being forced to obey, that it's not really in my nature anymore to do otherwise," The cat paced around Nick's foot a few times, "You haven't paid me my fish," he mewed, stopping his pacing to lick his paw.

"When we get to the garrison I can get you all the sardines you want," Sam sighed.

"Fine then."

"Are you saying you're under orders to change your name every five hours?" Nick asked incredulously.

"No, idiot, I haven't finished my story. It's not my fault my name is changing every five hours. It's you who asked what I should be called, and I hadn't gotten to the point where I could decide. So then I pick a name, and when I here you say it, I don't like it."

"So where did the 'Wong' come from?"

"Well, given what's bound to happen once we get across the wall, I thought it was appropriate. But it sounded silly, so I dropped it."

"Fine. Let us know when you decide on something for now I'm calling you Cat."

"Very well, but my name is now Rone."

"Sounds like something you'd call a deer," mused Nick.

"Thank you ever so much for the compliment. Prince Sameth, what have come in here for anyway?"

Sam explained why the trucks stopped, and that Nick was to sit tight while the rest of them kept off the Dead Sabriel and Lirael replaced the wind flutes. It could take hours.

Nick experienced an odd sinking sensation when Sam told him she would be going too. He must have shown it, because his companion looked at him with one eyebrow half-raised.

"Good luck!" he called as Sam scrambled back out of the silent lorry. It wasn't until the flap had stopped shaking that Nick realized Sam had left something behind: A small but serviceable sword with some hastily made charter marks and a small coin.

He picked up the coin and flipped it over. Both sides were blank. He tossed it up. It stayed, hovering at the top of it's arc. It wouldn't come down.

Rone watched it warily, "So, he's given you one of those? Put it away. It's annoying me."

"It's annoying me, too," Nick muttered, "How do I get it down?"

The cat opened one eye and glared, "I'm not telling you, if you don't know."

Nick gritted his teeth and told it to come down. It hovered cheerfully in midair, ignoring him. _Well, at least I have something to do,_ he thought.

**Alright, here it is. It was a bit of a push to get this up before I leave for school, so it's a little sloppy in places. I don't know how many have read the new short story out called "Nicholas and the Creature in the Case," but I'm trying to move this story around a bit so that it will fit in neatly between Abhorsen and that story. Obviously there are some things that won't make sense… But there we have it. It will probably be another few months before I get through seven. Originally Six was to be longer, but I ran out of time, and ended up with writer's block. **

**Renowe**


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